


Drilled Into My Heart

by ButterBritches



Category: Rookie Blue
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-24 11:02:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8369782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterBritches/pseuds/ButterBritches
Summary: Gail and Holly. A drunken game of darts, a friendly bet, a tattoo. Holly ends up being Gail's tattoo artist.





	1. Chapter 1

Andy McNally was a ballsy drunk. Evenings where Andy overindulged had a propensity to end up feeling like an episode of The McNally Show. Normally Gail was able to limit her annoyance level to mild irritation by steering clear of Andy as much as possible while still hanging with their shared friends. The night of the bet, however, Gail ended up with a big part to play in The McNally Show.

"You think your hot shit, Peck? Queen of darts? Pssht. I totally bet I could take you." Andy taunted Gail.

Gail quirked and eyebrow. "Really, McNally? Bet? I would wager my right tit on the certainty that I will wipe the floor with you at darts, today and every other time I can be bothered to waste a game."

Gail was a dart shark, undefeated by anyone in the 15th Division. Everyone in the division who played her was swiftly handed their ass along with a relentless stream of verbal abuse. 

"How about the left?" Andy asked, undeterred by Gail's confidence.

"Seriously? You sure you don't want to take a minute and let one of your stolen boyfriends talk some sense into you?"

"Okay," Andy concedes. "It doesn't have to be the tit, but somewhere in the left breastular region. You know, in the vicinity of where your heart would be if you had one." 

"I had to make room for all those smart ass comments somehow. It was like doing computer cleanup. I just sorted by 'Last Accessed Date' and get rid of the oldest. Sayonara heart. Funny, I don't even miss it."

Andy rolled her eyes. "So how about it Gail? Full bet is this: the loser of the dart game gets a tattoo of the winner's badge over their heart, or in your case, in the left breastular region over the black hole of suckiness."

"McNally. You are stupid. So stupid I almost feel bad. But I will suck up that guilt I almost feel and take advantage of your stupidity. All for the opportunity to see my badge carved into your skin where it will remain for all eternity. Forever. Because you are drunk. And because I am awesome."

Andy turned and picked up her drink. Grinning like a drunken idiot she asked, "So we've got a bet?"

"Duh." 

"Let's drink on it and play then."

Both women raised up their glasses in acceptance and then finished the remaining alcohol.

"Game on, loser," Gail taunted, sweeping the darts off the table and stepping up to the line.

\-----------

Fuckity fuck fuck. How did this happen? Gail lost the bet. It was a near impossibility, but it fucking happened. Nothing was out of the ordinary that could have foreshadowed the shift of the gravitational pull that must have occurred. That was the only way this could have happened. A known factor, a constant had to have become dynamic thereby throwing off the unconscious calculations that happened within her as she threw the darts. Air pressure, wind speed, distance, and position were all carefully taken into consideration and transformed into a precise application and distribution of force to her muscles. But fucking gravity must have changed or something because every shot was off that game.

As Gail ran through the alignment of the stars and the different laws of physics, Andy raucously celebrated her victory. 

"Fuck me gently with a chainsaw," Gail said to herself as she watched Andy do her victory dance like a pompous ass across the entire floor of the bar.

\----------

Gail was not going to get a tattoo just anywhere. She was not going to get needled, tits out, in the middle of a shared space, by a grunting teenager who couldn't speak loud enough to be heard clearly over the metal music bouncing off the walls of the questionably cleaned workspace. Research needed to be done. She wanted to get McNally's fucking badge (no - that was not bitterness) tattooed on her in a clean place with private areas for the tattooing of her private areas. She also wanted to feel like maybe her artist was a real artist and not just someone who wanted to get discount tattoos and cash for weed.

The Tatted Cat was where she ended up. When she and Andy walked into the shop earlier that week to check things out, it seemed to meet all of Gail's requirements. The shop owner, Grace, was a good mix of don't-fuck-with-me and how-may-I-help-you. It also didn't escape Gail's keen sense of police observation that Grace was attractive. She had long black hair that fell in soft waves ending mid-breast. Mid-back. Gail totally meant to think mid back. Fuck. Returning to observation of her surroundings, aka Grace, Gail noted that Grace had tan skin and deep, dark eyes that hinted at an ethnicity Gail couldn't quite place. She was tattooed but not overabundantly. The work she had was good, which was encouraging. She had a mix of pin-ups, flowers, skulls, and dragons mostly on her arms and chest. She was tall, 5'9" or so , and slim but athletic. She either took care of herself or had amazing genetics. Another plus was that she could speak in full, coherent sentences, something that had not been true at every shop they's been in.

After the quick personal assessment Grace let Gail and Andy look around the place. It was clean. There were two private rooms, and the music was a mix of tattoo-inspiring songs across multiple genres. Once they seemed satisfied with the business environment, Grace talked to Gail and Andy about the tattoo and did a quick pencil rubbing of Andy's badge.

"When do you want to come in?" Grace finally asked.

"My only day off this week is Thursday. What do you have open then?"

"I have a 3 o' clock with Holly."

"Holly?" Gail looked up from the appointment book Grace was searching through. Her expression a mix of confusion and annoyance. 

Grace reached across the counter and put her hand on Gail's. "Relax, I get that you are . . . particular. I assure you, you are going to be okay with her. If you don't feel comfortable, have her call me and I will come in, on my only day off, and do the tattoo. Deal?"

Gail's agreement was reluctant. Lips pursed she briefly relented, "Fine." 

_________________________________________

"Grace?"

The dark rimmed glasses and lack of tattoos told Gail that this wasn't Grace, but the name was uttered before Gail could stop it.

"Wow, Officer. I see that police training has really been wasted on you, huh?" 

Gail felt the fire of contempt instantly spark at the comment. Who did this woman think she was? She was just about to unleash an abusive tirade when Grace's twin flashed a lopsided smile that sucked the wind right out of Gail's insult sail.

"I'm Grace's twin sister, Holly."

"Wow. You should feel slighted. Grace is way better looking than you." Apparently not all the insults had escaped her.

Holly shook her head dismissively, smile remaining. "You should try to keep in mind that I will be the one holding the pain inflicting device." She follows up the staement with a wink, extinguishing any fire remaining in Gail.

Gail smiles back this time. "Fine. Where do you want me, Holly?"

"For you, Officer Gail, we will take this somewhere a little more private."

This suggestion unleashed a wave of heat in Gail's body. It started below her belly button and rippled out like a surface of water broken by a stone. It was not something Gail was used to feeling in attachment to a woman. It's not that Gail hadn't found women attractive before, it's that she hadn't had them so directly assault her nerve endings, eliciting such an instantaneous visceral response. Gail suspected some of her arousal was due to the fact that Holly was clearly smart and also gifted at verbal sparring. These gifts coupled with an undeniable beauty rendered Gail powerless against the attraction. The feeling was a little overwhelming and slightly embarassing since Gail was about to spend a large chunk of time literally getting drilled by this woman . . . in private.

Pulling herself together, Gail asks, "How do you know I am an officer and a Gail?"

"My sister. Also, the appointment book has you listed as Officer Gail. And the tattoo I am going to be carving into your sternum and ribs is a police badge." Holly looks smug but teasing. "Wait. Do you think I could be a detective? I mean, not to toot my own horn, but I really just put some tenuously linked pieces into a congruent truth."

"Holly, your use of words like 'tenuously' and 'congruent' tells me that you are a nerd. Everything else you have said tells me you are an ass."

"Was Grace wrong? Are you a not actually Officer Gail but rather Detective Gail, because I am definitely an ass."

"Put a lid on it Nerd and let's do this. There will be plenty of time for your awkward flirting when you are touching my boob."


	2. Chapter 2

Holly starts leading Gail back towards a private room. She stops momentarily to tell a woman drawing at a desk in back to cover the counter if anyone comes in and then continues on to the bigger of the two private rooms. She stands outside the door and gestures her arm toward the inside, inviting Gail inside As Holly is setting up Gail looks nervously around the room, taking in drawings of skulls, paintings of geisha girls, sugar skulls, pin-ups (men and women), and comic book style concert posters.

"Please, have a seat." Holly gestures to the only chair in the room.

"Holly, that's a dentist's chair."

"It is, but it's not your teeth I'll be drilling. And hopefully, you've never had a dentist confuse your rack with your grill." Holly laughs at her own joke, and Gail can't help but smile, until she realizes she is smiling, and then she stops immediately.

"Well, at least you can laugh at yourself, Holly." Gail attempts to use a matter-of-fact voice even as she is beating her looming smile into submission.

"Don't think I didn't see you smile." Holly is now turned away making a copy of what, presumably is Gail's tattoo, but Gail can still hear the smile in her voice.

"It was a grimace. And, P.S. both my rack and grill are perfect specimens of their kind. I have actually had many dentists tell me so." Holly turns around to look at Gail who offers her a teasing smile and wink.

Turning back around Holly pulls the sheet off the copier and starts to cut around the badge, minimizing the amount of paper she'll have to wrestle with as she positions it on Gail's chest. While she is cutting Holly keeps the conversation flowing.

"Do you have any tattoos?"

"Nope," Gail says with a pop.

Holly swings around on her stool again, arches an eyebrow and then shakes her head with a cross between disappointment and foreboding.

"Hhssssss," Holly shakes her head in mock fear for Gail. "Good thing you are passionate about the subject matter."

"Why?" Gail is hesitant to ask but is overcome by a very real fear-based curiosity.

"Well, tattoos aren't without risk. There is the possibility of an allergic reaction to the ink, skin infections, keloids due to the build up of scar tissue, and rarely, tattoos can complicate medical diagnostics like MRIs."

"Wow," Gail says, conveying her displeasure as she makes a move to stand.

Holly quickly swings her arm out and puts it across Gail's chest, pushing her back against the black vinyl of the dentist chair. Both women remain frozen temporarily taking in the the solidity of each other before Holly pulls her arm back.

"I'm sorry. That's poor bedside manner. Lots of people get tattoos, Gail. None of them are near as bad-ass as you. I promise you, it's no big deal." Holly's voice was calm and reassuring. Her eyes were sincere, almost pleading, so Gail relaxes back into the chair. As much as she doesn't want this tattoo, she wants to get tattooed by Holly. She doesn't know why and that is annoying, but she does, nevertheless, know it's true and it has her feeling like a live wire.

Holly spreads some petroleum jelly onto her work surface, a large metal toolbox on wheels, and starts to stick some very tiny plastic containers that almost look like caps into it.

"Are you going to want some color on the badge or do you just want to do some shading to give it depth?"

"Option B sounds the least painful so I'll take that one."

"So tell me about this tattoo." Holly smiles as she makes eye contact with Gail. Although she is legitimately interested in the answer, she also kind of wants to hear the blonde's voice. It was just so . . . sexy. I had a slight huskiness, a smokiness that made it seem like she was meant to sing the blues. "I mean, I don't know you, but you don't seem as excited as I would expect for this being your first tattoo."

"It's a police badge."

"Well thank you Captain Obvious. Is it yours?"

"No," Gail mutters under her breath. 

Holly starts to open her mouth.

"Don't," Gail puts a a warning finger up, " ask. I do not currently hate you, but that could change very easily."

"Alright then." Holly gives Gail a single nod of agreement and then scans her up and down. In her head she does it so to evaluate if she is going to need Gail to remove her shirt. Holly knew that checking out Gail's legs should not necessarily weigh in to the decision, but her warm fuzzy parts overruled her professional sensibilities before she could stop herself. 

"Okay. I am going to need you to take off your shirt. It doesn't look like it can be manipulated enough to open up the entire area I need to work on." 

"Uh huh. How convenient. Are you sure you don't need me to remove my pants too, Holly?" Gail smirks teasingly. "Don't think I didn't see you undress me with your eyes."

"Just because I am a lesbian doesn't mean I am attracted to every woman I meet. Or even every woman who strips for me, and there have been many so, don't get any ideas there Officer. And remember that thing you said about not hating? That road runs two ways and, believe me, you don't want the person with the tattoo gun anything less than happy with you." 

Holly's poker face does not let on to whether or not she is kidding and her tone of voice was unrecognizable. Gail's mouth is momentarily rendered useless as her mind reels at Holly's . . . lady balls. 

Holly rolls her eyes and lets a smile slowly slide ever-so-slightly up the left side of her face letting Gail know she was kidding, at least about the last part. Before Gail can even breathe a sigh of relief that she hadn't upset Holly, Holly picks up the tattoo gun and starts doing some kind of tests or checks. She pushes a foot pedal and the gun buzzes. It's the kind of buzz Gail can feel in her teeth. No wonder she's sitting in a dentist's chair. Holly uses her long, tan fingers to adjust something on the needley looking contraption and pushes the foot pedal again. She does this a few more times until she seems satisfied, and then she sets the instrument down on the large metal toolbox and turns to look at Gail.

"Now, Gail, about that shirt . . . "

Gail feels her chest due north flush at the request. She is normally not shy about her body, and she's pretty sure she's not feeling shy right now, but she also isn't feeling the detachment of a normal client-business person interaction. That electrical sensation that has been present almost since she got to the shop has migrated to locations perhaps not appropriate in a professional relationship. She hopes Holly interprets the flush as embarrassment. She also give a silent shout out to the powers that be that she is not a man. That particular reaction would be a bit more difficult to explain away right now she ventures. 

Unable to muster a smart-ass comment to precede the action, Gail removes the shirt. Holly's eyes widen briefly as she scans the newly revealed alabaster skin that, she's pretty sure, is the most beautiful skin she's ever seen. Skin that she will soon touch . . . a lot. Holly quickly looks away trying to pull herself together. It doesn't but a second to realize if she doesn't do something now that she's turned away, it won't make her reaction any less obvious. Standing, she walks over to a cupboard and takes out a spray bottle, and returns to her stool.

"Ready for the stencil?"


	3. Chapter 3

Holly takes a step toward Gail carrying a blue spray bottle.

"I'm going to have you stand up so I can place the stencil on you."

Gail's insides falter a little at the words as she recognizes that they are rapidly approaching the step before the step before there is no turning back. God, she hates McNally right now. Like, hates her more than usual hates her.

Gail gets out of the chair, still holding her shirt, looking uncertain about what she should do with the garment.

"If you want I can put your shirt over here with my stuff so you don't have to worry about any ink or anything getting on it." Holly gestures toward a chair in the corner where a backpack and a fleece zip-up are piled.

"Thanks." Gail is too nervous to make a smart ass comment about the contents of the chair but makes a mental note to take a jab later.

"Ok, why don't you show me where you want the badge?" Holly asks the question on the short walk from the chair. 

"Over my heart." She growls the answer out through clenched teeth and finishes it with a mental "fucking McNally".

"Just so you know, in order to do that I would need you to remove your bra as well. Over your heart would technically require me to start the tattoo just below and continue it onto the underside of your left breast. Now, I am guessing that that isn't actually what you had in mind, so why don't you show me what you did have in mind."

"No, actually, that is exactly what I meant." Gail reaches behind her to unhook her bra, watching Holly the whole time. Holly's eye's widened and her mouth opened to speak words that never come out.

After lingering around her bra hook for a few seconds Gail drops her hands back to her side.

"Just kidding, Nerd." Gail shakes her head and smiles at the bewildered artist frozen in front of her. "I want it right here." Gail puts her right hand just above the top edge of her bra on the left side of her chest.

"Right." Holly looks down momentarily, clearly embarrassed, flustered, or a combination of both. "Alright then," she says looking back up, shaking her head a couple more times to refocus. "This might be a little cold."

She sprays whatever is in the blue bottle over the left half of Gail's exposed chest. As Holly suggested, it is cold. Holly pulls the stencil off of her workstation and holds it in front of Gail.

"If you could just stand as relaxed as possible, letting your arms hang naturally by your side . . ." 

As Gail does as instructed, Holly watches her chest. Taking the stencil between the thumb and index fingers of both hands, Holly moves it closer to its destination. The closer it gets, the harder Holly concentrates, even pulling the corner of her lower lip under her teeth so she can worry it over a hair's width and a fraction of a degree.

"Wow, Holly. Perfectionist much?"

Holly maintains focus, seemingly deaf to or ignoring the question until the stencil contacts Gail's moistened skin. 

"Are you complaining?" Holly wraps one hand around Gail's back to serve as a counterpoint to the fingers that are applying solid, even pressure to the stencil, carefully ensuring complete transference. And while Holly is so intent on the perfection of the placement of McNally's badge, Gail is acutely aware of everywhere Holly is touching her. She can feel the warmth of Holly's hands through her rubber gloves. She can feel the gentle pressure of Holly's fingers over the stencil, and of Holly's hand on her breast solely as a consequence of the hand's proximity to Holly's dutiful fingers. Despite intent or purpose, these sensations together create a surge of warmth in Gail that manifests perceptibly as a shiver.

Holly's hand stops moving.

"Are you cold?"

"I'm fine." 

"If you need me to turn the heat up, let me know. This room has a separate thermostat so we won't cook anyone but ourselves. But I do want to assure you, you will warm up once we get started."

"Like I haven't heard that line before, Holly."

Holly finishes peeling the stencil off and tilts her head in scrutiny. She raises her eyes to Gail's. 

"The difference is, when I'm all done, I will ask you if it was true." Holly's mouth twitches with a smirk that is fighting to be. "Why don't you check it out in the mirror and let me know if it is where you want it?" She gestures to a full length mirror next to the chair their stuff is on.

Gail walks over to the mirror. There it is. McNally's fucking badge. Fucking McNally and her luck. 

"It's perfect Holly." Gail meant the words, but her tone was definitely not confidence inspiring .

"Gail, if you don't want the tattoo, don't get it. Please." Holly's look is so soft, warm brown eyes full of kindness and concern. 

"I gave my word." It's the only explanation Gail offers as she returns to the dentist chair.

Holly works silently for the next couple of minutes, pulling out a couple needles, getting out more paper towels and gloves. Being a cop, Gail has seen enough of Holly and of her surrounding to understand what is really happening here. Everything was all set before. Holly is just giving Gail a couple of minutes to think this through. This woman who never even met her before tonight already knows that if pushed on a matter, Gail will fight. So Holly gives her a little time and trusts that Gail will do what is best for her. For a brief moment Gail is overwhelmed to have this person who is practically a stranger understands her so well and treat her with such regard, more so than her own family and most of her friends. 

"Okay, Gail. I'm all set. Are you ready?"

A single nod.

Holly swivels the stool and retrieves her machine. She pushes the foot pedal a final couple times, letting Gail hear the sound while double checking her double check. She dips the tip into the tiny pool of black ink before she spins back around.

"Nervous?" 

Holly waits for Gail's answer.

It is a simple question that Gail is sure Holly asks often in this job, yet she doesn't do so casually. It isn't meant to just be a conversation catalyst. Holly genuinely wants to know if Gail needs reassurance or yet another chance to back out. 

"I am." Gail makes eye contact with Holly, reassuring the artist that this is going to happen.

The endearing lop-sided smile returns, diffusing warmth throughout Gail's body.

"You're going to be fine. We'll take as much time as you need. Okay?"

Gail nods at her. Closing her eyes, she tries to swallow the lump in her throat. She silently curses Holly for being so damn nice and herself for being so weak. Her self-admonishment continues until the sound of the stool's wheels on the tile breaks her mental tirade.

Holly is close to her now, wielding the implement of torture. 

"I am going to start by doing a small section of outline so you can get an idea of what it is going to feel like. Ready?"


	4. Chapter 4

Gail's eyes are shut to hide anything her pupils might give away. The seconds feel like hours.

She could change her mind.

She feels Holly's hand on her shoulder. Her heart drops and seems to send vibrations out that travel along her ribs, vibrations with reverberations that set her buzzing everywhere.

She could still change her mind.

Then Holly's forearm settles across Gail's chest. Gail concentrates on feeling its entire surface area, where its touching her own skin, how hot it feels in contrast. She tries not to think about what is imminent.

The sound of buzzing. Not the buzzing of her body, unfortunately. It is the hum of a bad decision and it is close. And loud. 

Gail Peck is a women of her word.

The evil buzzing stops and Holly's touch is lifted.

"Gail. I don't want to do this. I don't want to give you a tattoo you don't want and it seems like you aren't going to back out."

"Holly, I am not a lot of things, but one thing I am is true to my word. This is a done deal."

"God, you are so stubborn. It's a tattoo, Gail. She would understand."

Gail looks at her with determination.

"Okay. Hear me out then. How about a white ink tattoo? They are very subtle, and, in my opinion, very sexy. On your pale skin, it would almost be invisible. But it would be there, and you will have kept your word."

Holly raises a single hopeful eyebrow in question.

"Holly, anything you put on this body is going to be sexy." 

Gail feels a corner of her mouth slip into a smile despite her attempt to remain deadpan.

Holly's mouth takes the bet and raises her one, forming an obvious smile that is trying not to look victorious.

Holly rinses the black out of the machine and then gets up to start rearranging the work surface to accommodate the new plan. 

"So, Holly, why tattoos? I mean, no offense, but you really don't seem like the tattoo artist type."

There is a smile in Holly's voice when she answers.

"My mom and dad always placed a lot of emphasis on the arts. They are both very artistic and believe that without at least exploring art, writing, and music you are missing out on an opportunity to fully develop into the person you could and should be. So Grace and I took music lessons, went to art camps, and attended writing workshops since we were little. We were never forced to continue with something we didn't like, but we were encouraged to at least try things before we wrote them off."

"Wow, they sound like horrible parents."

"The worst. Grace has art and music in her blood. There was never a question about what she would do with her life. She can play 5 different instruments by ear. She paints, and draws and gets paid to do both. But there was never a question that tattooing would be her thing. She has always just been drawn to it. She is just fascinated by the challenge of a continually varying substrate, as well as learning why people are drawn to what they are. Anyway, she started apprenticing when she was 18, by 22 she had a clientele that would support a business of her own."

"Wow. You are really making me wish I was getting tattooed by Grace." 

She hears Holly's sound of amusement as she continues to work.

"Relax, Gail. Although I have not dedicated my life to art, I have been drawing since I was four and tattooing since I was 22. I am quite capable of doing an impressive rendering of this police badge."

"Hmmm," Gail hums as she ponders what Holly has just said. "What, may I ask, have you dedicated your life to?" 

"Actually, I went to medical school. I just finished my fellowship. I am helping Grace out until I start work. She is down an artist right now."

"Well, that answers the question 'What is a beautiful doctor like you doing in a place like this?' Wait. Are 'rack' and 'grill' the anatomical names they teach you in," Gail pauses to do an air quotes with her fingers "'medical school'? Because, if so, I've got a newsflash for you; it's not a real medical school."

Holly laughs.

"I know, it probably seems very divergent, tattooing and medicine, but the truth is they really aren't.  
Touch, proprioception, and vision are important components of motor control. The same skills that make the lines of your tattoo flow without deviation from the intended path, that make that the application of the ink into your dermis as painless as it can possibly be, will help me perform the actions of my medical procedures very precisely."

"Holly, I think that's amazing. I mean your ability to take something so awesomely not nerdy and just dork it out so completely is awe-inspiring."

"Also, it brings in a little extra money while I am swamped in school debt. And it gets Grace out of the shop one day a week."

"So what area of medicine will you be practicing?"

Holly sits down on the stool again, picks up the tattoo gun and gives it a couple of more water purges before dipping it in the white ink.

"What say we try this again?"

Gail could tell Holly was avoiding the question, and, as unlike her as it was, she let her. After all, she wanted the woman who would be repeatedly puncturing her skin to be comfortable. 

"Ready?"

Gail nods and, once again, closes her eyes.

The lapse in time is less this go round. Apparently Holly got the message that Gail is going to do this because it isn't but a second or two before Holly's hand and forearm have laid claim to Gail's exposed skin. Gail feels Holly's thumb lightly stretch the skin where the stencil is just before she hears the buzzing of the gun and the sting of the needle. Holly does a 3 or 4 second burst before she backs off.

Gail opens her eyes and sees Holly waiting for her.

"Okay?"

"Yeah. Sure."

Holly is looking at her so intently. Her eyes are laced with such concern. And while the perforation of Gail's skin is not her favorite sensation, this woman's gentle touch and just generally warm nature made it something she wasn't dreading, even if it was McNally's badge. Fucking McNally.

"Alright, let me know if you need a break. The chest is not the least painful place to get tattooed."

And with that statement Holly went back to work, stretching and drilling, spraying and wiping. It was such a tirade of sensations. Some of them seemed to conflict serving to add just a little more stress to the situation. There was the cold spray on Gail's hot, irritated skin. There was the wet paper towel that felt like sandpaper when Holly wiped it across the area. The tattooing itself ranged from feeling like a scratch, to feeling like she was being carved. The longer Holly worked the more it tended to skew toward the latter. 

There is no way Gail was going to request a break. Instead she tries to shift her focus to Holly. Holly is leaned into Gail with her face hovering only inches from Gail's skin. When Gail stopped to really take in the closeness, she became able to feel Holly's breath, cool on her burning skin. In contrast, she feels Holly's warmth everywhere else. Holly's skin must be burning the way the heat radiates onto Gail's naked side through the artist's shirt, a shirt which is now stuck to her more closely as the sweat beneath grabs at it. 

A particularly painful stretch interrupts Gail's observation and causes her to inadvertently flex her abdominals. Now, Gail isn't extraordinarily muscular but she being slender and half-naked, the contraction turns out to be perceptible to Holly, both visually and by feel where their torsos currently meet.

"What say we take a break, Gail? I need to cool down a bit. My forearm is starting to slide."

"Sure. Whatever you need."

Holly stands up and stretches. She removes her gloves and then uses a couple of the paper towels to wipe her forearms and to catch the drips of sweat rolling down her face. Once the paper towels are disposed of, Holly grabs the bottom of her shirt to fan it out. As she does so, she reveals a tanned and toned abdomen and . . . ink?

"So, Dr. Holly . . . Do you have any tattoos?"

"Maybe."

Holly keeps fanning, maybe even a bit more boldly.

"Uh uh. I saw something. I think it's only fair that, since I am allowing you the opportunity to slice and dice my virgin skin with your tool of torture, and since I am sitting here half naked at your request, that you would afford me this small request."

Holly's lifted eyebrow and slightly pursed lips seem to ask 'oh really?' even as her hands readjust their grip on her shirt and start to slide it up.


	5. Chapter 5

Holly stops the upward progress of her shirt after only a couple of inches, reversing the action much more decisively. A tight tug returns the shirt to its intended presentation except that it immediately grabs the sweat of Holly's torso and suctions down tight. Dark spots start to soak through the light-colored fabric at her chest and belly making a three dimensional landscape of the once flowy fabric. The sweat does not take long to make the fabric translucent making a mockery of Holly's attempt at modesty.

"Now that would be thoroughly unprofessional of me, wouldn't it? Grace told me of the crime scene scrutiny you gave this place before you made an appointment. I wouldn't want to tarnish your high opinion of my sister's place of business."

Gail took a step toward Holly. It was slow but determined. In unison, her hand lifted from her side where it had been resting. 

Not knowing the destination of Gail's hand, Holly continued.

"Do your doctor's mirror your state of undress during your appointments?" 

"Only when I set up a Porky Pig pap." Gail states matter-of-factly.

Holly laughs. It is an unguarded, wholehearted laugh. Honestly, Holly would be hard pressed to recall a time where she had such an easy, fun exchange with a friend or an electric flowing dynamic with a women of interest. Even more honestly, Holly had thought that this type of situation only played out in lesbian fanfiction. (Definitely not on TV though - a hot, smart doctor could never end up with a beautiful, sarcastic, trash-talking cop).

Another deliberate step and Gail's thumb and fingertips come to rest on Holly's shirt, on a wet spot near her solar plexus. As Gail's finger applies the slightest pressure, the gray of the tattoo beneath bleeds through.

Holly's laugh fades to a smile as Gail presses forward. The sparks of . . . professionalism . . . fly out from Gail's thumb and fingers and light up Holly's inside, distracting her from the hilarity of cartoon nudity. Gail's thumb presses more firmly into Holly's midline and brushes to holly's right and downward, spreading the translucency of the shirt to reveal even more gray ink.

Gail looks up from Holly's increasingly pointless shirt. Although not new to the game of overt flirtation with the intention to bed, Gail is not accustomed to the target being a woman. Nor is she used to feeling like she might actually give a shit how things end up. It is a bit more tenuous then Gail is familiar with because she wants to know Holly, and talk to Holly, but she also wants to see Holly, and touch her . . . maybe even with her tongue. And pressing for the latter might interfere with the furtherance of the former.

But Holly looks backs at Gail, into Gail, with big, beautiful brown eyes full of something resembling a mix of hope, interest, tentativeness and confusion. Not the easiest of looks to use in gauging a next action. Thankfully, there are other physiological signs to consider. Holly's quickened breath is more apparent beneath the clinging shirt, as are twitching muscles beneath Gail's fingers.

 

"Holly, you are a doctor. But you aren't my doctor. And while I have never requested any degree of nudity from a female service provider, the idea of seeing what is only now kind of hiding beneath this shirt is . . . well . . . stimulating.

Holly puts together a weak "oh really" expression to counter, so Gail continues.

"It really isn't that different from wanting to see what art an artist decorates their own space with, what music a musician listens to, or what kind of donuts a baker buys." 

Gail seems to drift away momentarily on a cloud of delicious donuts, but when Holly shakes her head at the absurdity of the comparison, Gail quickly returns.

"And, yes, you are currently my tattoo artist, but I have never heard of a tattoo artist taking an oath of conduct or, based on what I have seen in my "scrutiny" leading up to me getting McNally's fucking badge tattooed over my tit, it is the loosest most lenient oath in the history of oaths. And even if you took that ridiculous oath, don't you kind of want to show me what you got anyway? Aren't some risks worth taking? Aren't some questions not actually even questions? Aren't some people worth trusting? Live a little, Holly, before life swallows you whole."

And there it was, a statement conferring a deeper understanding while actually knowing nothing of the truth. The implication of a connection that is more than physical while not yet even technically being physical radiates energy from Holly's center outward, everywhere simultaneously

Holly shakes her head.

"This is ridiculous."

Gail nods as her fingers curl under the bottom of Holly's shirt and both peel and slide the fabric up over Holly's abs, then ribs, then breasts. Finally, and in complete fluidity with Gail's movement, Holly lifts her arms to allow Gail to liberate the shirt from her hot, wet skin.

The right side of Holly's torso is tattooed ala Gray's Anatomy. It is exquisitely detailed, shaded and labeled - a live engraving all at once vibrant and morbid. It isn't a cold flat image of an unknown person's insides. It is Holly laid open for Gail (or whoever lays eyes on it) to see. The delicate lines follow Holly's curves exactly. They arch and dip with respective highlighting and shading making every contour an extreme version of itself. It is multilayered with some areas having bare bone and muscle attachments while other areas are just muscle with intricate fibers that shortened and lengthened when Holly's body moved, the way Gail imagines those muscles and fibers would actually shorten and lengthen in response to the movements.

From what Gail can tell in Holly's current state of dress, the tattoo stops below Holly's right breast, under the bottom of her bra. As her eyes move back down over Holly's torso, she notices that Holly's right side is also tattooed. It is is far more simple then the work of science and art on the left, but what it lacks in detail, Gail has no doubt it makes up for in meaning. 

On Holly's left side is a scar. It runs from about the bottom of Holly's sternum down one-inch or so and then shoots hard right all the way around her back out of sight. Gail gently spins Holly to see where it ends - about one inch short of her spine. The scar is tattooed with crude stitches. They don't look like the neat, professional stitches Gail imagines Holly would do. The stitches look . . . angry. On each side of the scar are three names. All the names are different. All female. All are written in the same script as the Gray's anatomy text on the left side.

Gail turns Holly back around lightly tracing the scar with her index finger as she does. 

When Gail looks up at Holly, Holly's eyes are closed. 

Without questioning or thinking, Gail takes Holly's right hand and places the fingertips onto Gail's right wrist, where the skin is still textured from the ropes she had been bound with. Holly leaves her eyes closed as Gail leads Holly's fingers around the circumference of the scar.

Holly slowly opens her eyes, finger tips still on Gail's wrist, Gail's hand still on hers. For once in her life, Gail doesn't look away. She doesn't immediately make a smart-ass comment or an excuse to leave. She squeezes Holly's hand and keeps her eyes on Holly's as Holly releases the fear she instinctively must hold when laid bare before someone for the first time.

"I had no idea nerdy textbook tattoos could be so hot . . . "

Well, at least she didn't make the smart-ass comment immediately.


End file.
